


Mend

by Saber_Wing



Series: New Beginnings [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Also Toby/Cassandra if you squint, Angst, Blood and Injury, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so mean to my boys, Sorry Not Sorry, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Max has a difficult decision to make. Considering the alternative is watching his brother bleed to death, it sort of makes itself.





	Mend

“Stop poking it!”

“I'm not 'poking' it.”

“You are! You're making it worse!” Max smacked his brother's hand away. “Quit squirming and let me see.”

Tobias shrugged out of his plate armor, turning away defensively. “It's nothing. Just a flesh wound.”

“You are _standing_ in blood. Now fuck off and let me see it!” Max took his brother by both arms and forcibly turned him, pushing him down onto a crate by both shoulders. He tore Toby's shirt open, sidling closer to get a better look at the injury.

Tobias stared for a moment, eyes wide. He sighed. “Maxwell, that was my _best_ tunic.”

Max threw up his hands, incredulous. “Then don't wear it under your armor. Now stop whining and hold still.”

“ _Whining?”_ Tobias sounded personally offended by the notion. “I am not – ah! Max, _ouch._ ”

“Sorry.” Max winced sympathetically. He blew a tuft of hair out of his eyes, struggling to steady his hands. He prodded the wound gently – it was only around three inches in length, but it looked fairly deep.

The archer bit his lip, tearing a strip of cloth from his own undershirt. “We fell pretty far. It'll take a few minutes for the others to catch up with us. They have the medical supplies, and _I_ don't want you bleeding to death.”

“You are blowing this quite out of proportion, my dear. This is hardly-” Tobias broke off, hissing when Max pressed the make-shift compress to his wound. The color drained from his face, and he gripped the edge of the crate underneath him with a white-knuckled fist.

“...you were saying?”

His brother squeezed his eyes shut, looking far too pale. “Point taken.”

“Whoa, whoa, _no_.” Max shook him, alarmed. “We're not doing this. You are not going to pass out on me.”

Tobias released an unsteady breath, still without opening his eyes. His words had a faint quality to them. “Don't be daft. A gentleman does not simply _pass out,_ Maxwell. _”_

“You're not a gentleman, Toby. You're a warrior. Who just got blind-sided and stabbed. Care to explain that for me?”

To Max's relief, Tobias blinked his eyes open at long last, releasing an uncharacteristic groan. “I'll never live this down, will I?”

“After all of the lectures you've given me? ' _Be more careful, Maxwell. You're a target, Maxwell. Don't get choked to death by a warrior again, Maxwell.'_ You're one to talk! How did that guy get the drop on you? What were you even doing?”

Tobias at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I...may have been a bit distracted.”

“Really? You don't say. What were his words again, Toby? Refresh my memory. Oh, yes, that's right! ' _Take out that warrior.'_ What part of that was unclear?”

“All right. You've made your point. I'd prefer to talk about this at a later date, when I'm significantly less muzzy-headed, if you don't mind.” Tobias clenched his jaw, face drawn with pain. The amount of blood gushing between Max's fingers alarmed him. He pressed harder on the wound, forcing down a wave of panic.

“Shit.” Max glanced back above their heads anxiously. “Where the hell are they?”

“We fell pretty far, you said that yourself. It'll...take a moment. For them to catch up.” Tobias was leaning heavily against the wall. His words came slow. Halting.

The last battle they'd been drawn into was particularly chaotic – the wooden bridge Max and Toby ended up on was old, and overtaken by dry-rot. When the slats broke away and dumped them back on the previous level of the cavern, it should have come as no surprise.

Max had bumped his head on the way down – he scowled, blinking the blood out of his eyes for what felt like the twentieth time. He swiped at his forehead with his sleeve, struggling to stop his hands from shaking as he pressed them back to Tobias's wound.

“You're hurt.” Tobias tried to sit up, but Max pushed him back down, scowling.

“It's just a scratch, don't worry about it. You're the one we need to take care of. You're bleeding too much. Why did you have to take the knife out of your wound?”

“ _I_ didn't, dear heart. The rogue did. If only I'd had the foresight, I'd have asked him to put it back in,” Tobias muttered, tone dry. That he could muster up even the faintest modicum of sarcasm was a good sign. That might have comforted Max, if he hadn't been so frightened of the ever-growing pool of blood beneath their feet.

Max couldn't just sit here trembling, like an idiot. He had to _do_ something.

They couldn't depend on the others – Max had no idea where they were. What he _did_ know was that Tobias always kept a needle and thread in his pack, 'just in case.' Whether the 'just in case' was meant to be a wardrobe malfunction, or an emergency wound stitching, was anyone's guess.

This was a _terrible_ idea. Even just the thought made him want to throw up.

But, the alternative...

The archer steeled his resolve, snatching Toby's pack off the floor. He kept one hand pressed to the wound, rummaging around in the bag until he found what he was looking for.

“Don't fret. The others will find us, and I'll be right as rain.” Toby placed one bloody hand over Max's. He was making a valiant effort, but he was fading fast, and they both knew it.

If Max was going to act, it had to be now.

He met his brother's eyes, removing his hands before placing both of Toby's over the wound. “I need you to keep pressure on that for me, okay?”

Tobias blinked dazedly. After what seemed like an eternity, he nodded. Max watched, tense, as his brother pressed both hands into the wound, tipping his head back against the wall.

He needed to hurry.

Luckily, Toby also carried a flask of strong Antivan liquor. The archer snatched it, soaking a clean drying cloth in alcohol. He then swiped it over the needle, hoping that would sterilize his supplies. The last thing they needed was for the wound to go septic before a proper medic was able to treat it.

Tobias watched him, perplexed. “What in blazes are you doing?”

Max continued, undeterred. He ripped a leather strap from his own armor, folding it over itself until it was a suitable thickness.

“Closing your wound. Here, you'll have to bite down on this.”

Tobias blanched, shrinking way from Max. It tore his heart out, but if given a choice between, _'stitch your brother's wound shut,'_ and _'watch him die,'_ the former was a clear winner.

“Don't worry. I've watched the surgeons do this at Haven.” The archer forced back every emotion that threatened to break through. His voice was solid steel. “Do you trust me?”

Toby's expression calmed. The fear was still there, terror just barely held in check, but he swallowed hard, nodding his consent. He took the strap with shaking hands, smiling tremulously. Looking paler by the second.

“If I should do something untoward, say...scream, cry, or otherwise make a spectacle of myself...”

Max scoffed. “I won't hold it against you. And I'll try to be quick. I promise.”

“I trust you.” Toby shoved the gag into his mouth, bracing himself against the wall. Max focused on the task at hand – he didn't dare think about anything else. This was probably going to amount to one hell of a panic attack later.

Max took a steadying breath. He couldn't screw this up.

He set to work with methodical precision, tearing the rest of Toby's shirt off and swiping the cloth over the open wound. The warrior stiffened, flinching as the needle plunged into his flesh.

Gradually, Toby's cries got sharper. Louder. They filtered around the gag, echoing in Max's head until they were all he could hear. His brother's hands were curled into fists, and he jerked a few times, as if trying desperately not to pull away.

Max swallowed hard, blinking back tears. He had no time for them. They'd have to wait.

The whole process couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, but by the time he had finished, Tobias was shaking. And when he glanced up at Max, his eyes were glistening, clouded by agony.

The archer froze, blood congealing like ice.

“It's okay.” Max wrapped both arms around his brother, careful to avoid his wound. He rested his cheek on top of his head, willing himself not to break. “You're okay.”

Tobias groaned. He spit out the gag, biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. He made a fist, digging his fingernails into his palms.

Grounding techniques. Toby was trying to stay _awake_.

Max took his hand, uncurling his fist gently.

“Stop.”

Tobias shook his head, defiant. His eyes fluttered.

“ _Stop_ it. You don't have to be strong, not for me.”

Tobias heaved a frustrated sob – clearly, he objected, but he'd lost a lot of blood, and he was, after all, only human. He slumped against Max, squeezing his hand.

“I...l-love you...”

Even half dead, his brother made sure to say it. Every day. Several times a day.

Despite everything, Max smiled. He pressed their foreheads together, overcome.

“I love you, too.”

Tobias's breath caught. A tear escaped, rolling down his cheek.

It was only then that Max realized he'd never once said it back.

He'd known better.

_Max was four, and he'd burst into Papa's office unannounced. The room was filled with scowling old men, but he didn't care._

_He grinned, hugging Papa around the waist. The men snickered, murmuring to each other behind their hands._

_Once the men were gone, Papa turned toward Max, and his eyes were cold._ _Without a word, he stalked around the desk, and back-handed him._

_Father never apologized, but he did let Max have extra sweets before dinner. And, he brought him toys to play with while his nursemaid iced his cheek._

_Max was seven, and he'd used the wrong fork with his salad. People talked - wondered what mother and father were doing,_ _how they could have_ _raised such a heathen._

 _The following day, h_ _e didn't eat._ _He never forgot his salad fork again._

_Max was ten, and he cried when his hands blistered: soft, unused to holding a weapon. There were bruises rising on his arms where he'd been struck with the training sabers, and Max decided he didn't want a sword. Uncle Morris had a bow he used to hunt, and he should rather like one, too._

_He got a reprimand, and an extra round of training for his honesty. It took dozens more bruises, and a broken arm for his trainers to convince father he was better with a bow._

Max held Tobias tighter.

 _I love you_.

The words were trapped in his throat. Caught, like barbs on his tongue. And, despite all his noble talk of putting the past behind him, Max couldn't pretend not to understand why.

He had no idea how much time passed as he sat there, staring blankly at the wall. Long after Tobias's breathing evened out, and he slumped against him, boneless. Eventually, he became aware of footsteps. Armored footsteps, thundering toward them.

“Herald? Tobias?”

His lips moved, but Max still couldn't feel them, numb as they were. Cold, and bloodless. “In here.”

His companions thundered into the room with weapons drawn, looking as if they expected a fight. Instead, they found Max and Toby, sitting on a bloodstained, wooden crate, both covered in gore.

“He's badly wounded. I did what I could, Solas, but I'll need you to have a look.” His voice sounded off, even to him – flat, and lifeless.

His companions exchanged a glance – they were looking at him askance. Eyeing him, like a caged animal.

At some point, it was decided that this was as defensible a place as any to set camp. Tobias was taken away to be fussed over by Solas and Cassandra. After they'd pried Max off him, of course. He sat alone on the crate now, gazing into the puddle of blood.

After some time, Iron Bull approached. He knelt in front of Max, taking his hand. His words were halting. Careful.

“Let me take that from you, boss.”

Max blinked, staring down at their hands. He was still clutching the needle and thread; so hard, his knuckles were white.

The archer released his grip wordlessly. They sat together for a time, the qunari a silent, solid anchor beside him.

After a minute or two, Iron Bull broke the silence.

“You did good.”

Max startled. He jerked his head up. The dam was starting to break, and he wasn't sure he could hold it back much longer. Wasn't sure he wanted to. His lip quivered.

“Y-Yeah?”

Iron Bull smiled – more gently than Max had ever seen. “Yeah.” One massive hand touched his shoulder – soft, almost tender. “The blade hit an artery. He'd have bled out before we got to him.”

Max choked, wrapping both arms tightly around himself.

Iron Bull reached for him. He pulled him off the crate – slowly, as if to give him time to say no. “This okay?”

Max nodded jerkily. His vision blurred, and when the first sob threatened to burst forth, he buried himself in Bull's chest, and let it come.

* * *

Max cleaned up as best he could, making his way to a stream just outside the cave entrance. He scrubbed at the blood on his arms until the skin was red and raw, then sat on the shore for another hour, trying to come to terms with the fact that his entire team had been present while he sobbed himself into oblivion in The Iron Bull's arms. Like an _idiot._

Max couldn't have felt more awkward about it, but no one said anything when he made his way back in, and to Toby's bedside. Bull nodded as he passed, brushing his shoulder in a deliberate, but subtle show of support.

Max just nodded back and hoped he wasn't blushing.

Tobias lay on a cot they'd assembled from their camping supplies, covered from the waist down. His torso was wrapped in clean bandages, and he was pale, though he'd gained a bit of color to his cheeks. That was nice to see. The knot in Max's chest loosened a little.

“How is he?” Max asked, approaching Solas.

“The wound looks good. You did well with the stitches. So long as we watch him for infection, and keep it dressed properly, I don't foresee any further problems. He'll be weak for a while. We'll have to stay while he gains his strength back before we can move him. At least a day or two.”

Max heaved a shaky breath, collapsing into a chair. “Thank the Maker. I was afraid I'd done more harm than good.”

Solas placed a hand on Max's shoulder. “You saved his life. There can be no question of that. I'll leave you alone to gain your bearings.” The elf smiled softly, a twinkle in his eye. “Something tells me he'll wake soon, and you've much to talk about.”

Solas left him to his thoughts. Max could hear the others moving around behind him – Cassandra had built a fire, and someone had ventured out into the forest to catch their dinner. He could smell the meat roasting. Eventually, that combined with the warmth from the fire had him dozing in his chair.

Something touched his hand, and he sat bolt upright, startled.

Tobias was staring at him, eyes half-lidded.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you,” his voice was raspy and thick, but he was coherent. Alive.

Max heaved a full body sigh, threading their fingers together. “You frightened me all right. How do you feel?”

“Dreadful, thanks for asking.” Tobias frowned. “Have you not slept? You look terrible.”

Max scoffed. “Oh, yeah, its been great. Waiting to be rescued. Scrubbing blood from underneath my fingernails. Tearing my hair out, worrying about you. Plenty of time to sleep, in between all those things. What's the big idea, huh? I thought gentleman didn't pass out.”

Tobias's cheeks colored. “They don't. Clearly, however, I am a warrior who got blind-sided and stabbed, through my own stupidity.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “I'm going to want that story, you know.”

Before Tobias could answer properly, Cassandra approached from behind them, handing Max a plate of food.

“You must keep your strength up.” She turned her attention to Tobias. “Good to see you still live.”

“Likewise, milady. That last battle got a bit...harrowing.”

Cassandra's face soured at the 'milady.'

“Get some rest.” She pointed a stern finger at Max. “And you—eat. I'll have something light for your hapless brother later.” The Seeker favored the siblings with a smile that was almost fond before stalking off toward the fire, purpose in her step.

Tobias turned his head to watch her. “Extraordinary, isn't she?”

“I suppose.” Max swallowed a bite of meat, thrown by the subject change. He narrowed his eyes, regarding Toby with suspicion. His brother had been making subtle comments like that about the warrior lately.

Come to think of it, Cassandra had been right over Max's shoulder, fighting off three assailants of her own when Tobias was...

No.

No _way._

“Maker's breath.”

Tobias stiffened. “What?”

“You were watching Cassandra! That's why you got hit.”

Tobias didn't flinch, but he did adopt a carefully blank expression, which was telling, in and of itself.

Max dropped his plate on the table next to them, dinner all but forgotten. “It _is_ , isn't it?”

“Shh!” Tobias hissed. “Not so loud.”

“You do realize she'd destroy you if she ever found out?”

Tobias's face lost whatever color it had gained back. He narrowed his eyes. “But she won't. You won't tell anyone. Will you?”

“Oh, I'm going to tell _everyone.”_ Everything they'd been through, and all because his brother was a lecher. Somehow, it was the best explanation Max could ever have asked for. “This is great.”

“I aim to serve,” Tobias dead-panned, voice dry.

“You absolute _idiot.”_ Max bent over double, voice strangled with laughter.

“Poke fun, go ahead. It's not as if _you're_ one to talk.”

“Huh?” Max blinked, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, come now, Maxwell. Don't think I haven't noticed you making eyes at The Iron Bull of late.”

It was Max's turn to blush. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

As luck would have it, the qunari happened to glance their way. He threw Max a lop-sided grin, that, had he been standing, might have left him weak in the knees. As it was, his breath caught, and he looked away.

Tobias raised an eyebrow.

Max sighed. “Okay, _fine._ I won't tell if you don't.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” His brother smirked, though it turned into a wince as he shifted his weight under the covers.

Max jolted. “You okay? Can I get you anything?”

Toby tried to push himself up with a grimace. “I wouldn't mind a drink of water.”

Max perched on the edge of the cot with a canteen, slipping an arm behind Toby's back. Once he was finished and Max had him settled, he pulled the covers back far enough to have a look at his dressings. No fresh blood-stains, and the bandages hadn't come loose. Good. Max straightened the blankets again, lifting them just below his brother's arms.

When he glanced back up, Tobias was staring – scrutinizing his face.

“I've put you through quite an ordeal, haven't I?”

Max scoffed, averting his eyes. “Do I really look that bad?”

“Yes, quite. You should get some sleep.”

The archer smiled, though it felt weak, even to him. “I'm fine. Besides, haven't we got this backwards? I'm supposed to be worried about _you._ Are you in any pain? Solas did what he could, but I don't think we really have much for it.”

Tobias wrinkled his nose. “It's manageable. I wouldn't be alive at all, if not for you. My memory gets a bit...fuzzy towards the end, but I know what you did for me. You saved my life, Max.”

“I didn't have a choice. What was I supposed to do, watch you bleed to death?”

His brother gave him a funny look – one that seemed oddly subdued. The archer scowled, pointing a stern finger at his brother. “No. Don't you dare. We talked about this.”

Tobias raised a hand in surrender, though he couldn't lift it very far off the mattress. “I didn't say anything.”

“You didn't have to.”

His brother huffed. It was his turn to avert his gaze. “I'm working on it.”

“You'd better be. If we can't be honest with each other, we may as well go back to Ostwick right now.” Max scowled, shaking his head. “That said, are we just...not gonna talk about the gay thing? Because I really don't think we should be skipping over that.” His stomach fluttered with nervousness, but there was no taking it back now. His brother would either accept it, or he wouldn't. Either way, it wasn't going to change who he was.

Tobias looked genuinely perplexed now. He cocked his head. “The what?”

“The...I'm gay...thing.” Max blushed, looking away. Maker, his poker face really had gone to shit the moment the Conclave exploded, and it had only gotten worse since Tobias arrived at Haven. Mother and Father would be ashamed. Well....more ashamed, anyway.

To his shock, Tobias actually _laughed_ at him. “Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?”

The archer stared. “You knew?”

“Dear heart, I don't think there's anyone back home who _doesn't_ know.”

Max was increasingly skeptical. “Even father?”

Tobias snorted. “How do you think you always got away with all those dalliances you thought you were subtle about?”

“But...” That didn't make any sense. There was no one more concerned about image than Bann Jaxson Trevelyan. And his youngest son, sneaking around with other men? He would never have allowed it.

“I was convinced he'd disown me if he ever found out.”

“I suppose that shouldn't surprise me.” Tobias gazed up at him, something pensive in his gaze. “He always was a good deal harder on you. He never said it, but I think that in the end, he deeply regretted that. I meant what I said before, Max. When I told you our parents were worried after the Conclave.”

“Good.” The word was so bitter, it actually took Max aback.

“Peace. I'm not making excuses for them. Actually, I've been meaning to ask you something.”

Maxwell nodded warily, alarm bells blaring. His voice was laced with hesitation. “Go ahead.”

Tobias shifted uncomfortably, picking at the bed-sheets. “Did he...was he ever...physical...with you?”

Before Max even knew what was happening, his walls were slamming back up again. “You're asking if he hit me.”

“Did he?” The words exploded out of Tobias, hurried, desperate. Suddenly, he seemed to realize the gravity of what he was asking. He slammed his mouth shut. “You don't have to answer that. I've no right to ask.”

A secret, ugly part of Max, one he truly _had_ thought he'd put behind him, reared its ugly head. Suddenly, he wanted Tobias to know. Wanted the _world_ to know how Bann Trevelyan ruled his lands and his sons: with an iron fist.

“He didn't beat me on the regular, if that's what you're asking.”

“But it _has_ happened.”

Max hardened his gaze. He nodded jerkily.

Tobias squeezed his eyes shut, pained by more than his wound. He looked ill, if not entirely surprised.

“He implied as much, just before I left. I didn't want to believe it, but he was acting so _odd._ He insisted I take a company of our own men with me, even after I'd found a suitable company of mercenaries. I may have been the one who spear-headed and organized all plans to go after you, but I wasn't the only one who wanted it.”

Somehow, even just the faint possibility that his father felt _guilty_ about the way he'd treated Max sent an ugly surge of satisfaction coursing through him.

“I hope the guilt eats him alive.”

His brother's face crumpled. “I knew he'd hurt you, but I never realized just how deeply. I'm sorry.” Tobias clenched his jaw. “I'm _so_ sorry.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes frantically. He turned away, but not before Max saw the tears gathering beneath them.

Oh, _no._

“It's not your fault!” Max back-pedaled so fast, he nearly launched himself off the bed. “I don't blame you.”

“You should. Deep down, I think I knew. Maybe I could have done something, if only I'd had the strength. I don't know.”

Max pulled his brother's head into his lap, stunned speechless. He'd never seen Tobias cry. Never. Unless you counted a few hours ago, after the stitching, but aside from that...

Maker, it was terrible.

He had to make it _stop._

“Please don't cry. Shit, this is why I never told you. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“No!” Tobias shouted, vehemently opposed. “Don't keep it inside. Not for another moment. I understand now, how much that hurts you.”

“But...”

Tobias shook his head, swiping at the tears on his cheeks angrily. “My wounds have weakened me. I'm sorry. I should never have let you see me like this.”

Max tightened his arms around Toby. “I...no. I'm glad you did. I might bottle shit up, but you're ten _times_ worse.”

Tobias released a watery chuckle. “I know. But I promised you I'd learn forgiveness, and I have been trying. Varric called it survivor's guilt, though I'm still not entirely sure what that means.”

The archer looked away, eyes burning. They had to stop doing this to themselves. Max couldn't change the past. Neither could Toby.

...or father. He blinked at the realization, startled.

It still didn't erase the things Bann Trevelyan had done, or the way he made Max feel. But, if he didn't expect his _brother_ to change the past, how could he want his parents to?

An apology might be nice, though. They'd made quite a mess of things. Max was emotionally crippled, Tobias wasn't much better off, and Matthew...who even _knew_ what was going on in his eldest brother's head. Max had never considered that before, but it was an interesting thought.

The archer cleared his throat, swiping an arm over his eyes.

“Okay, fuck this. And fuck _you_. Stop doubting yourself. You're a great brother _._ I...” The words were stuck again. Caught – like barbs on his tongue. Max defied them, this time. Ripped them from his throat. “...I love you.”

They were hushed, choked, but he'd done it. He'd said them. Max smiled, breathless.

Tobias released a shaky breath. “You said that before, too.”

“I'm...sorry. It took so long.”

“Don't be.” Toby looked happier than he'd seen him in a long time. Max realized then, just what withholding the words had done. “Now, lie down with me. I'm tired, and you look ready to drop.”

Max nearly protested. There were a million other things he should be doing. He still needed to send a raven to Leliana. Help plan their next move, for when Tobias was mobile again.

But he _was_ tired. His eyes were heavy, and soon they'd start to cross with exhaustion. Max bit his lip, though deep down, he knew he'd lost the fight. He was already reaching down to unlace his boots.

“I don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't. It's _cold_ here, Maxie. Keep me warm.” Tobias all but whined as he sunk further into the covers, scooting over to give him room.

Max laughed, startled. Sometimes, he still couldn't believe how free his brother was with his affections, here.

“That's a new one.” He kicked his boots off, sliding under the blankets. He was careful to lie on the opposite side of his wound for fear of jostling it. “Isn't Varric supposed to be the one with all the nicknames?”

“That one _was_ his idea. I was a bit embarrassed to use it, but I rather think I like it now.” Tobias burrowed closer to Max, words slurred. He threw an arm around Max, and in seconds, his breathing had evened out, and he'd dropped off to sleep.

The archer scoffed. Even while injured, it usually took Max a blood sacrifice and ten pounds of sedative to nod off, but Tobias made it look easy. He smiled fondly.

“I like it, too.”

They hadn't grown up like a normal pair of brothers. There were no nighttime jaunts around the keep. No hapless adventures outside. No sleepovers, or ghost stories. No whining, “It wasn't me!” or “He started it!”

But Max thought he finally understood now, as he lay next to a brother he often wanted to strangle. A brother he loved more than life itself. This must have been what other children felt growing up, knowing they had each other to fight off terrors in the dead of night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The world needs more men being vulnerable, and I'm here to make that dream come true.


End file.
